


Judges

by theDeadTree



Series: GreedFall Oneshots & Scene Collections [8]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Mentor/Protégé
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29445483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theDeadTree/pseuds/theDeadTree
Summary: He’d never been paid even close to what he was getting for this job, and it still wasn’t nearly enough.
Series: GreedFall Oneshots & Scene Collections [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505774
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have had no motivation for writing lately, and Kurt is honestly the biggest pain. Not to mention, fight scenes are not my forte. Please bear with me.

_“Again,_ green blood.”

The boy in front of him shot him a thoroughly annoyed look, and in fairness, Kurt felt much the same. They’d been at this all morning, without any sign of actual improvement. Granted, his hopes hadn’t been all that high to start with. After a week of daily training sessions, there hadn’t been any real progress, with either of the two fledglings he’d been landed with. The prince’s son was still rather young, and was frequently nowhere to be found. Presumably because he knew he could still get away with it. The nephew, on the other hand, was older and had fewer excuses. And to his credit, he did seem a little more invested – largely in that he, very occasionally, actually bothered to turn up to training.

Kurt sighed at the thought. How far his standards had fallen.

He circled his young charge, watching his every movement, fingers lightly tapping against the pommel of his sheathed sword in a show of slight impatience. Here it was, his supposedly cushy job far from the front, stuck in the palace, constantly running after a couple of idiot noble boys who barely knew which end to hold a sword from.

In front of him, Adélard stood with all the tension one could expect of a bored fourteen-year-old; idly twirling his rapier in his hand, pretending to test its weight. He didn’t take this seriously, that was plain enough to see. Combat training was, at this point, still little more than a formality; and it would stay that way until he found himself in a real fight. Until then, it was only going to feel like a waste of time.

Kurt had never been paid even close to what he was getting for this job, and it still wasn’t nearly enough.

And of course, rather than do as commanded, Adélard didn’t move, instead opting to throw his head back and let out an obnoxiously loud groan. “We do this every day. Can’t we move on to something else?”

Kurt’s brow immediately furrowed. _Seriously?_

“And how are you going to do _anything_ like that?” he asked, reaching out and lightly smacking Adélard upside the head, unable to help but smile slightly when the boy gave a startled yelp and staggered back. “Look at how you’re standing. A _breeze_ could knock you over.”

“Who _cares?_ _”_ Adélard demanded while rolling his eyes, even as his hand flew to rub the back of his head. “Kurt, we’ve been doing this same drill for _days._ _”_

“And lo and behold, you still can’t keep a good fighting stance to save your life,” Kurt snapped back irritably, just about done with the lip he was getting. “I’m sure I’ll be in awe of your fancy technique when you trip over your own feet.”

“Why am I even _listening_ to you? You don’t even _fence._ _”_

“I’m your master-of-arms, smart arse. Just because I don’t use it doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”

Adélard let out an agitated sigh, but didn’t argue any further. Instead, he straightened, eyes narrowing slightly at he stared at his own feet for moment, as if he was trying to work something out in his head. Then, slowly, jerkily, he went into an incredibly rough approximation of a fighting stance.

Once again, Kurt found himself sighing in exasperation.

“Your form’s all off,” he said, a little accusingly, unsheathing his own sword and lightly tapping the boy’s feet with it, trying to correct him. “The hell are you doing? It’s like you’re back to front _and_ inside out at the _same time._ _”_

Adélard scowled at the remark, something Kurt quickly elected to ignore. If they were going to do this, then he had to get used to criticism. And not just that – he’d have to learn to actually take it on board as well. At this point, Kurt’s hopes weren’t high for either happening any time soon. And as he watched Adélard’s jerky, uncertain movements as they ran through the drill again, those hopes only sank lower. This was possibly the first time he’d ever seen someone become genuinely _worse_ with practise.

 _Hopeless,_ he thought viciously. _Bloody hopeless._

This was starting to feel more like a punishment than a promotion.

“Get out of your own damn head for once and focus on what you’re actually _doing,_ _”_ he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying his best to relax, even a little. “This isn’t magic; you actually have to _work_ at it.”

“Maybe _you_ _’re_ just a terrible teacher,” came the infuriated retort.

And _there_ it was. Blaming everyone but himself. At this point, Kurt wasn’t sure what else he expected. But he was getting so _tired_ of this. Tired of the lack of progress, and _so tired_ of being on the receiving end of a child’s frustration, as if Kurt was singularly responsible for everything wrong in his life.

“Look here, green blood,” he began tiredly, “I don’t want to be here any more than you do. I’ve got a thousand better things to be doing. But unfortunately, your uncle has decreed that you learn to defend yourself. So, you can either _suck it up_ and actually make a bloody effort for _once_ in your _damn life,_ or you can keep wasting _both_ our time.”

There was a silence as the two simply glared at each other. Or, more accurately, Adélard glared while Kurt folded his arms and waited patiently for him to back down. He could get as angry as he wanted – the situation would remain the same. And perhaps Adélard knew it, because he eventually closed his eyes, taking a few quick, supposedly calming breaths before opening them again. He clearly wasn’t used to this; to actually working for something. And why would he be, after a life of having everything handed to him on a silver platter?

Wealth and power only got one so far, it seemed.

“You’re not even bloody _trying,_ _”_ Kurt sighed as he watched Adélard stumble awkwardly through the drill once again.

“I _am_ trying!” Adélard snarled back with uncharacteristic hostility. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Kurt simply arched an eyebrow incredulously before motioning for him to try again. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Adélard shot him one more scathing look, and for a moment, it seemed as though he was going to simply try again without a word. Kurt watched and waited, eyes narrowed critically as Adélard began to take his stance, and-

“This is _pointless!_ _”_ he practically screamed, immediately straightening and angrily tossing his sword away, jumping up and down agitatedly on the spot and shaking his hands as if to soothe his aching wrists.

Kurt let out a quiet groan and as he crossed the yard to where Adélard’s sword lay, scraping it up off the ground. He didn’t have the time _or_ the patience to deal with a noble temper tantrum today. It was one thing, trying to teach a lazy, entitled child. It was another thing entirely to try to teach a lazy, entitled, _immature_ child who acted less than half his age, because _god forbid_ he wasn’t perfect at something on the first try. At this point, he’d have better luck banging his head against a wall.

“You done?” he asked, shoving the sword roughly against Adélard’s chest.

For what felt like an eternity, Adélard didn’t move. He just stared absently at Kurt, eyes wide, apparently shocked at his own outburst. With a heavy sigh, Kurt pulled back, not sure what else to do. Suddenly, he had never felt less qualified for a position.

Then, gingerly, Adélard reached out, left hand closing around the hilt of the sword Kurt was still holding, pausing for a moment before immediately passing it over to his right.

Kurt sighed as the realisation finally dawned on him. “Swap hands, green blood.”

Adélard blinked, his head snapping up to meet his gaze, all the frustration and anger suddenly gone from his mind, replaced only with confusion and shock. “…what?”

“You heard me. Swap hands.”

For such a long time, Adélard shifted awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with himself.

“But-” he began shakily, “but that… that’s my left hand?”

“So use your bloody left hand.”

For what was starting to feel like an absolute eternity, Adélard stayed there, rooted to the spot and unmoving, lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t quite summon the courage. Kurt just stared back at him and waited, trying not to grow too irritated as the seconds dragged by.

“I’m not _asking,_ green blood,” he called out impatiently.

Adélard immediately jerked back at the sound of his voice, quickly and a little clumsily shuffling his sword from one hand to the other. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

Kurt scoffed. “Are you _offended?_ _”_

Adélard didn’t answer, instead preferring to stare determinedly at the ground immediately before him in some vain attempt to hide his face from view, fingers tracing his jawline and the odd mark sprawled across it.

“Look,” he began, a quiet but distinct edge in his voice, “I get it. I have a birthmark-”

“Not everything is about your face, _Lord de Sardet,_ _”_ Kurt sighed exasperatedly, cutting straight across him, while quickly getting into a fighting stance of his own. “Show me your stance. Mirroring me this time.”

In all honesty, part of him was still expecting an argument, and was a little surprised when he was met simply with silent obedience. Immediately, Kurt noticed an improvement in how held himself; completely lacking the hesitation and uncertainly from before. It still needed work of course – it was absurd to think he’d suddenly become a master swordsman just by changing hands – but his movements seemed far more intuitive this time, and having Kurt there to copy seemed to allow him some small measure of confidence that hadn’t been there before.

“With me,” Kurt called, his voice quiet and relatively soft – compared to earlier, at least.

Adélard nodded. “Okay.”

Slowly, carefully, they went through the drill together, one step at a time, stopping every now and then so Adélard could correct himself. It was jerky and awkward, even a little painful in places, but by far the smoothest run through that they’d managed in the week since they’d started. Kurt moved seamlessly, having learned this drill by heart long ago; never taking his eyes off the boy in front of him, solely focused on his performance. Waiting and carefully assessing whether it was even worth continuing, and if improvement was even possible.

It might be, he eventually concluded. But not without a lot of work; work he wasn’t convinced the little lordling was really willing to put in, given his current track record. Meanwhile, the prince wouldn’t be satisfied until both boys were able to sufficiently defend themselves, should the need arise. He’d made that rather explicitly clear.

Such was Kurt’s eternal dilemma.

“Now,” he said as he straightened after they completed the full move set together. “Do it again. By yourself this time.”

Adélard hesitated for a moment – but only for a moment. The relative success of the last attempt seemed to have emboldened him, encouraging and reassuring him that he wasn’t completely useless. He traced through the movements, as quickly as he seemed able.

 _“Slowly,”_ Kurt ordered.

Immediately, Adélard stopped. “I thought I had to be fast?”

“If you can’t do it slow, green blood, you _definitely_ can’t do it fast,” he said bluntly. “Get your technique down, and maybe _then_ we can start thinking about speeding up.”

Adélard nodded, and immediately went back to the drill, this time at a significantly slower pace. Kurt’s eyebrows raised slightly – he honestly hadn’t expected his advice to be taken to heart so quickly. This newfound motivation couldn’t all come simply from using his dominant hand, could it? Kurt shook his head slightly. More likely, it was from the prospect of actually improving for the first time since they’d started training like this. But he suddenly wasn’t sure anymore.

Kurt returned to circling him, carefully analysing his form and nodding as he noted the marked improvement from the first few abysmal attempts, his movements that were now so much more fluid and intuitive. So there _was_ a brain in the lad’s skull, after all. Good to know. With enough time, effort, and general patience, they might even get somewhere. Eventually.

He grunted the instant that thought crossed his mind, quickly dismissing it. Even if that was true and not simply wishful thinking, they still had a _long_ way to go before they were close to anything that could be called acceptable.

“See how much easier this is when you use your dominant hand?” he pointed out, gesturing vaguely at Adélard’s general person as he finished the drill and straightened once again. “Why do you even _bother_ with your right?”

The boy shrugged and glanced away, a distinct hint of pink colouring his cheeks. “I thought I had to.”

“Who told you that?”

He quirked an eyebrow at him. _“Everyone.”_

Kurt groaned. He should’ve known. “I’m going to let you in on a secret.”

Adélard stopped in his tracks, blinking in surprise. “You… _what?_ _”_

“Most people don’t know what to do with a left-handed opponent,” Kurt said without missing a beat, making eye contact with the boy and never once wavering. “Fighting that way not only helps you, it throws _them_ off as well. You’ve got a free advantage there. Be smart and _use it._ _”_

“But people will think-”

“With any luck, they’ll be _dead,_ green blood. They won’t be thinking much of anything.”

“You _know_ what I mean!”

Kurt folded his arms and didn’t move. “I do, and I’m telling you that it’s not worth caring about. Or are you _really_ willing to throw your life away over aesthetics?”

That didn’t garner a response at all – something that told Kurt that he’d probably won the argument. In front of him, Adélard stared determinedly at the ground immediately before him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment despite his best attempts to hide it.

“You’ve _got_ to stop putting so much stake in what everyone else thinks of you,” Kurt added after a brief pause, trying his best to sound reassuring and never quite sure if he’d succeeded. Uncertain if what he was saying would even help. “Focus on you. Keep practising, and in ten years you might almost be a halfway decent fighter.”

There was a cheeky smirk etched upon Adélard’s lips now. “Meaning in five years, I’ll be good enough to beat you?”

Kurt groaned loudly at that. “Don’t get cocky. You’re far from a natural.”

“Would it kill you to say something nice even _once?_ _”_

“I’m not here to make you feel good about yourself, green blood,” Kurt remarked dryly, as he reached out to take the sword from him. “We’ll leave it there for today. If you find yourself with spare time, I’d recommend you practise.”

Adélard blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Kurt confirmed. “I’m satisfied with your progress today. Just one thing I need you to do.”

“What?”

“Use your left hand from now on. No excuses.”

For a moment, Adélard stared at him with wide, shocked eyes, not quite sure how to respond. His lips parted for a moment as if to argue, but he quickly thought better of it, apparently figuring that Kurt was ready and willing to argue the point. So, eventually, he gave one small, stiff nod, before awkwardly turning on his heels and making his way out of the yard.

After that, Kurt began to catch Adélard practising in the courtyard; rapier gripped firmly in hand, a determined expression plastered across his face as he ran through the drill repeatedly on his own. So singularly focused on himself the world around him may as well have ceased to exist entirely. Carefully tracing out each movement until it became automatic, memorising each step until it was almost a dance. And slowly but surely, he seemed to finally improve.

Kurt smiled and shook his head.

Maybe, just this once, he was happy to be wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt paced.

For what felt like such a long time, that was all he did; walking the length of the courtyard and back again without stopping, his grip on the rapier in his hand continuously tightening and softening as he did.

Adélard was late.

_Again._

At this point, Kurt wasn’t entirely sure why that surprised him. Almost eleven years they’d known each other now, and the boy had barely changed. Training was still a simple formality; something to be shoved aside, put off, and rescheduled at will. Especially now, that Adélard had long since been deemed a competent swordsman. And yet, Kurt still paced agitatedly, knowing that soon all those years of preparation would be put to the test. The boys – Adélard and Constantin both – would have to prove to him that they could handle themselves before he’d feel safe letting either of them out of his sight.

He didn’t think it was too much to ask. Apparently, his sentiments weren’t shared.

So he waited. And paced.

Perhaps he should be used to being a lower priority by now. There had been countless mornings he’d found himself alone in the yard, only to learn later that something had come up; years of being assured that this wouldn’t negatively impact them, that he was to be congratulated for successfully teaching them anything. Visitors, meetings, social events, lectures from the old schoolteacher… they’d all taken precedence at one point or another. As the boys got better, training, and Kurt by extension, became less important. A reality he’d always been aware of, but had never bothered to face until now.

Kurt sighed and arched his neck back, baring his face to the sky. He really was just a glorified bodyguard now, wasn’t he?

It was starting to seem like that would never change.

“Hey!” he called out the instant he finally spotted Adélard himself making his way across the courtyard, lightly tossing the rapier to him. “Green blood!”

Had it been anyone else, Kurt might’ve thought twice before lobbing a sword at their head; but Adélard caught the weapon in one near effortless motion, barely even blinking as he did so. And immediately, he threw his head back and let out a loud, exhausted groan as he turned on his heels.

 _“Kurt…”_ he ground out his name, his tone practically dripping with tired impatience.

Kurt ignored that, his hand carefully wrapping around the hilt of his own sword and slowly unsheathing it as the two of them immediately began to circle each other, his eyes never leaving the ground as he carefully analysed Adélard’s footwork.

“You’re late,” he pointed out in a mildly accusing tone.

Adélard barely reacted. “I know.”

“What kept you this time?”

“Sir de Cortone,” came the vague, bored response.

Kurt’s eyes narrowed. “You couldn’t have picked a different day to sit for a portrait?” he asked – demanded, really – incredulously.

Adélard didn’t meet his gaze. “Mother insisted.”

There was nothing to say to that. Nothing Kurt felt he _could_ say – not without starting a conversation neither of them were prepared or willing to deal with. Princess de Sardet’s failing health wasn’t news, and neither was Adélard’s reluctance to leave her. Talking about it wouldn’t do much of anything. Nothing that hadn’t already been said, anyway. The best he could hope to manage was simple distraction.

“So, the day has finally come,” he began while gesturing grandly at the palace around them. “My royal fledglings are leaving the nest.”

Adélard, rather than react to the jab, opted to cock his head slightly to one side; a small, crooked smile playing upon his lips as he carefully watched Kurt, trying to discern his movements before he made them. “Accompanied by their most _loyal_ and _tenacious_ master-of-arms.”

The sarcasm in his voice wasn’t subtle, and Kurt quickly chose to ignore it.

“As loyal as your _gold,_ _”_ he retorted.

Adélard laughed. “The cold mercenary act must be getting a little tired by now, don’t you think?”

“Who said it was an act?”

“I suppose it could all be part of some clever strategy,” he began, nodding at something behind – an obvious trick to distract him that Kurt refused to fall for. “The best place to strike at someone is from their side, and all that.”

 _“Hey._ You know you lot would all be dead without us.”

Adélard let out a shout of laughter at that. “Ha! Once upon a time, perhaps. But I’m no longer a child, Kurt.”

Said with the same cocky attitude he’d had back when they first started, but Kurt didn’t bother to point that out. Sometimes it seemed as though the only thing that had really changed in the decade they’d been doing this was Adélard’s skill level – years of relentless and determined practice had seen to that. But he’d been a right little arse then, and he remained one now.

He was the best student he’d ever had, just by virtue of the fact that he occasionally actually bothered to listen to what he was told. But of course, Kurt couldn’t actually _tell_ him that – he’d never hear the end of it.

Rather than dwell on it, Kurt raised his blade in challenge. “Is that so? Well, let’s see.”

Adélard immediately let out the loud, exhausted groan that had become emblematic of their training sessions together, but did instantly ready himself for combat, apparently aware that he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this.

A small, crooked smile pulled at the edges of Kurt’s lips. “Fight with honour!”

They continued to circle for a moment or two; neither of them all that keen on the dramatic charges that usually followed those words. Kurt knew Adélard well enough by now that he preferred to be careful, briefly ducking in and out of range. Had he really been trying to hurt him, he’d use that knowledge to his advantage. Instead, they exchanged a few attacks, a few parries, switching between being on the offensive and defensive, both of them carefully testing each other without really engaging properly. Kurt wasn’t looking for anything more; he was testing for the basics, not the overly fancy, flowery technique the aristocracy tended to favour.

Of course, the thing about fighting Adélard was that the boy liked to _move._ Constantly, in every conceivable direction, as fast as possible. It was tiring just to watch him sometimes, let alone defend against him. Sometimes, Kurt couldn’t rid himself of the distinct feeling that he’d created something terrible by training him this past decade.

He was so singularly focused on watching Adélard and what he was doing, that he almost forgot to defend himself entirely. Not his finest hour, but if he was going to be distracted in a fight, this one at least would have no consequences. He was there to assess, after all, not to win.

And sure enough, he soon found himself standing stock still, chest heaving as his lungs laboured for air, the point of Adélard’s blade just barely grazing his collarbone, poised and ready to run him through. For a moment, the two of them stood there, both panting and drenched in sweat as Adélard couldn’t help but look immensely pleased with himself.

Kurt exhaled loudly and stepped back, sheathing his sword. “You defend yourself well!” he managed in between gasps for air. “One might think you had a _proper_ master-of-arms.”

Adélard’s grin only grew wider. “The best!” he confirmed breathlessly.

“You might be legate now green blood, but don’t bother. Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Perhaps I was trying to soothe your ego.”

Kurt let out a shout of bitter laughter at that. “My ego will survive just _fine,_ thanks. A spar isn’t a real fight, after all.”

Adélard rolled his eyes to what seemed like the sky and back. “You can’t ever just be impressed, can you?”

“That not my job, green blood,” he pointed dully, before stepping back and gesturing vaguely at the courtyard, as if to remind himself of their bout. “But, for the fight, you have remembered your basics. Congratulations – your performance just got you out of a final lesson.”

“Praise be,” Adélard remarked dryly, quickly turning heel and making his way over to the weapon rack by the far wall, reaching for his belt and scabbard, quickly buckling it on. “Are your bags packed for the great departure?”

Kurt arched an eyebrow slightly at the sudden change of topic. He really _was_ trying to avoid talking about his mother. In that moment, Kurt couldn’t say why he was surprised, or if he could blame him. Avoidance had always been the go-to strategy, when the reality of it became unbearable. And Adélard had been dealing with that particular reality for quite some time now. Today it was simply all coming to a head.

So, he decided to humour him.

“Yes,” he answered bluntly, watching the young man carefully as he sheathed his rapier and continued to go through his things. “You know I get by with very little. You’re not angry that I’m coming with you, I hope?”

Though Adélard was still focused on the weapon rack, he didn’t bother to do much of anything to hide the look of faint disgust plastered across his face. “I must admit, I _had_ thought my days as a child – complete with bodyguard – were behind me.”

Kurt didn’t flinch. “I _do_ like being wanted.”

Adélard didn’t even look up. “Oh, you _know_ what I mean.”

“In any case,” Kurt continued, sheathing his sword and leaning slightly against the weapon rack, “you’d need to take it up with your uncle. He’s the one who gave the order. Didn’t feel you were apt to take care of yourselves alone.”

“That does sound like something he would say.”

Kurt exhaled softly as he thought about it – he doubted the prince was solely behind the order. Princess de Sardet must have been in the process of putting her affairs in order for quite some time now, and it was only natural to think that assuring her son’s safety would be one of her top priorities. And given that Kurt was usually told to place Constantin’s life above all else, the fact that he’d been ordered to remain with Adélard unless explicitly told otherwise… well. It was fairly clear she’d had some hand in it.

Briefly, he was left to wonder if Adélard had _any_ real idea of just how much his mother did for him, and how incredibly lucky he was to have her. Few parents in the Congregation truly cared about their children as much as she did.

“Speaking of…” he began, only to almost immediately trail off into silence.

Adélard glanced up. “What?”

Kurt closed his eyes and sighed, deciding against it. “Do you know where our future governor is hiding? I was hoping to put his skills to the test as well.”

That was met with an exasperated groan. “I’ve _no_ idea. He left yesterday with the intent of celebrating the departure, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“You didn’t go with him? You usually do.”

Adélard shook his head, his eyes glazing over slightly as his expression grew distant and melancholy. “I should’ve. Too many things on my mind, I suppose… damn it, I _knew_ this would happen.”

“You’re not his caretaker, green blood.”

“No,” he agreed quietly, “but Constantin doesn’t have anyone else.”

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose and doing his best to relax. “Well,” he began dryly, “I guess I’ll help you look for him. And dump a bucket of cold water on him if necessary.”

Adélard let out a shout of laughter as he finally straightened, turning on his heels to go. “I’m sure he’s in real need of that.”

For a moment, Kurt simply stayed where he was and watched on, wondering if he truly was content to simply leave the conversation there.

“Have you spoken with your mother yet?” he called out, almost despite himself.

A shiver seemed to go up Adélard’s spine the instant the words were out of Kurt’s mouth, and he immediately stopped dead in his tracks. “No.”

“You should.”

“I know.”

For a moment, that seemed to be the end of it. For a moment – one painful, agonisingly long moment, the two of them stood there, unmoving, in almost complete silence as the rest of the palace carried on without them. For a moment, Kurt wasn’t sure if he was going to get anything more than the same short, somewhat terse answers no matter what he asked.

And yet, it didn’t stop him from trying again.

“And…?”

Finally, Adélard turned, brow creased. “And, _what?_ _”_

“How are you coping?” Kurt pressed.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe that, green blood.”

“I’m _alright,_ Kurt,” he insisted, a little flippantly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Kurt folded his arms, unimpressed. “And yet, I do. Every day.”

“I suppose I should take that as a compliment,” Adélard sighed, rolling his shoulders back as he went to leave once again.

“I’ll meet you in the city later,” Kurt called after him.

Adélard didn’t turn, just kept walking out of the courtyard, raising one hand to acknowledge him before disappearing from view.


	3. Chapter 3

The sound of gunshots hounded the city for a little over a week before the last of the major conspirators in the coup were arrested, the Coin Guard routed, and everything seemed to fall into a somewhat eerie silence.

There would be trials now, and inevitably, executions. Most of it would be as public as possible. No doubt examples would have to be made, if only to ensure no such attempt ever happened again. Scores of people had died already, and scores more would die in the days and weeks to come.

They had only just started down what Kurt knew was going to be a long and bloody road.

That was his pervading thought as he made his way across Orsay Square, one hand clutched around the hilt of his sword out of what was now becoming sheer paranoia. Suddenly, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he may as well have had the word _traitor_ painted across his back. Several of Torsten’s supporters were still out there, and he’d made himself a target by getting in the way, and siding with the aristocrats. He’d always prided himself on his loyalty – now it felt as though it was all he had left.

Kurt sighed a little and rolled his shoulders back as he approached the governor’s palace, trying to put it out of his mind.

This whole situation was a mess.

Slowly, he ascended the steps to the palace, keen to resume his post and put the chaos of the last few days behind him. But he couldn’t. Too many things had happened; too many things had changed. He’d been left hanging by recent revelations; one of his two royal charges was dying, while the other, it turned out, wasn’t royal. He couldn’t begin to think about what that might mean, the potential repercussions of it all. How did this affect him? An adopted member of the royal family was still a member of the royal family. Maybe nothing had really changed at all.

It would be easier, he supposed, to keep on doing his job and keep his nose out of the politics of it. Interfering with court matters had never been a good idea, after all. His orders still stood regardless.

Just as he was about to reach for the doors they were pulled further inside, leaving Adélard standing at the threshold.

Immediately, he stopped dead in his tracks, blinking slightly in surprise.

“Kurt,” he greeted a little stiffly, one hand clutching the door handle.

They both stood there, standing motionless in the doorway as Adélard failed to say anything. Kurt simply watched on, waiting for him to politely break the silence as he was usually wont to do, but it never came. Instead, they continued to stare absently at each other, trapped in a crushingly awkward silence.

Adélard had never been a naturally talkative person, but this was… too quiet. Even for him. He stood there, looking pale and gaunt as if he hadn’t slept in days, staring at Kurt with glazed over eyes that told him that his mind was some place far away. For someone who was usually so meticulous about every aspect of his appearance, he looked absolutely wrecked. But really, after everything that had happened, was Kurt really surprised? Could he even _blame_ him?

And then, finally;

“Excuse me,” Adélard mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper as he gently pushed past, letting the doors swing closed behind him.

For a moment, Kurt seriously considered letting him be, and continuing on his way inside the palace.

Just for a moment.

So he turned on his heels, just in time to see Adélard stop at the top of the steps and simply sink down to the ground, hunched over and pulling his knees into his chest.

“Green blood,” he called softly as he slowly made his way over to him.

Adélard barely reacted, if at all, letting out a grunt so quiet it was barely audible and shifting maybe half an inch to the side in some vague effort to allow enough room for Kurt to join him. For a moment, Kurt simply remained where he was, rooted to the spot as his mouth ran dry. So much had happened these past few days – in fact, just _how_ much had happened was only truly beginning to dawn on him now. Things had been so calm a week ago, so much so that it almost felt like another lifetime.

There were so many things he wanted to ask in that moment – questions he wasn’t sure he’d gain answers to, given how tensely Adélard held himself and how fragile he looked. So, he asked what seemed like the simplest question he could think of.

“Have you seen Constantin?”

Adélard didn’t answer immediately, preferring to instead cast his gaze down at the ground immediately before him and quickly sucked in a deep, shaky breath out of some desperate effort to calm himself. “I have. I can’t say he was happy to see me.”

Kurt sighed and slowly eased himself down next to him. “Well. It’s probably hard for him.”

“He said he’d rather starve.”

A small, sharp exhale escaped Kurt’s nose. “Of course he did. And apart from being his usual melodramatic self, how is he?”

Adélard didn’t look up. “Worse.”

He wasn’t quite sure what other answer he’d been expecting. They had all seen people fall to the malichor now – hundreds of times over. It would get worse. It would _always_ get worse. Life on the continent had simply become an endless parade of death, and that was something they’d all been forced to make peace with. The most soul-crushing part of the situation wasn’t the fact that Constantin’s health was steadily declining, but rather the idea that the malichor had followed them to somewhere they’d all naïvely believed it couldn’t reach.

Kurt had to wonder; how long until the plague swept across the island too? They still had no idea what caused it. Had they unwittingly unleashed it upon the natives?

He winced at the thought, quickly turning his head away from Adélard, suddenly sure _that_ particular revelation was better off left well alone, at least for now. Possibly forever.

Beside him, Adélard let out a quiet exhale and rolled his shoulders back.

“I have to ask,” he began hoarsely, “why did you warn us? Why not go along with the Coin Guard?”

Kurt whipped back around to face him, blinking owlishly at the question. In all honesty, he’d not had time to think about it. Everything had happened all at once, and he’d reacted out of what had felt to him like instinct.

Rather than admit that, Kurt forced a smile. “If I’d let you get killed, there’d be no one around to pay me, now would there?”

Adélard didn’t reply, simply arched an incredulous eyebrow at him.

Once again, Kurt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying in vain to relax. “I’ve known you both for too damn long. It’s my job to protect you. I can’t cure the malichor, but I can at _least_ save a couple of idiot noble boys from a bloody _coup._ _”_

And in hindsight, had he even _considered_ the alternative? After losing Reiner, after the ghost camp? It all seemed so obvious, looking back on it. Kurt wanted to kick himself for not seeing it sooner, for blindly trusting Torsten for so long. Because even with all of that, he was still only just scratching the surface of the corruption when he was suddenly confronted with an order to participate in it. When he found himself being told to kill the boys he’d been teaching and guarding for years. Of course he had to save them.

It was never a choice, really.

The smallest, barest hint of a smile danced upon Adélard’s lips in that moment. “Are you saying you _like_ us?”

Kurt immediately pulled a disgusted face at that. “Don’t go spreading it around, green blood.”

For one brief, glorious moment, Adélard grinned mischievously at him and they may as well have been back in Sérène, exchanging light jabs like they used to. Then the smile was gone, almost the instant it came, as reality seemed to hit the both of them all over again. Constantin had the malichor, the Coin Guard had almost succeeded in killing them all, and Adélard-

Kurt jerked his head roughly to one side, as if to rid himself of that thought through sheer force.

One thing at a time.

“What was Torsten even trying to achieve?” Adélard asked, taking on a slightly dismissive tone. “After it was all said and done? Was he expecting to still be paid by dead men?”

Kurt glanced away, realising in that moment that he genuinely wasn’t sure what the ultimate goal had actually been. Somehow that question had never even occurred to him.

“Independence, I suppose,” he muttered after far too long. “Though I don’t know how that would’ve actually worked.”

Adélard rolled his eyes slightly, and shook his head. “No one ever thinks through the logistics. Even _Constantin_ would have had a better plan than that.”

Kurt chuckled – he couldn’t help it. It was a valid point, embarrassing as it was. Constantin had always been the flightier, more impulsive of the two of them, but he did think things through more than the Coin Guard apparently had. Perhaps they’d been told what to do by their employers for so long that they no longer understood how to operate independently. It certainly would explain a few things. Even he had sort of fallen in with them simply due to where he came from and how he was raised. Sometimes it seemed as though there were no real choices in the Guard; only orders.

He sighed at the thought. He’d defied his orders. That, at least, had been a choice.

“So the ghost camp’s purpose was to train literal assassins,” Adélard mused. “Torsten planned that much, but not what would happen afterward?”

Kurt grunted and gave a half-hearted shrug. He had nothing to say, certainly not in Torsten’s defence. The coup had been doomed from the start. Even had they succeeded, it would’ve inevitably fallen apart in a few months. He could see that now.

Beside him, Adélard gave a quiet exhale and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly trying to brush the thought aside before glancing over. “You said you’d had experience with similar camps?”

A small shiver travelled up Kurt’s spine at the question, and his mouth immediately ran dry. A wealth of memories suddenly threatened to overwhelm him, bubbling up to the surface, completely unbidden. His hands automatically clenched, knuckles whitening as he focused on the pain of his fingernails biting into his palms.

No. He couldn’t go there right now. Maybe not ever.

“We aren’t discussing your damage, green blood,” he said quietly, “so let’s not start with mine.”

Part of him expected Adélard to argue – to push back against him like he usually did when he wanted information out of someone. Instead, he simply nodded curtly and pushed himself up onto his feet, dusting himself off slightly as he did. For the first time, he seemed to finally understand that unwillingness. Now that he had his own demons that he couldn’t bear to face.

“I understand,” he murmured, turning around on the spot to face Kurt once more. “Nevertheless, I’m grateful for what you did, Kurt.”

Kurt simply nodded back at him, unmoving.

“Anytime, green blood.”


End file.
